


Out of the Horse Race (And Back In the Running)

by windowright (twoif)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7589026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoif/pseuds/windowright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris Wu is running for president and running back into the life of one Zitao Huang, who would give anything to outrun this vice-presidential nomination—and their history together.</p><blockquote>
  <p>"Baekhyun." Kris leans forward, both palms down on his desk, an earnest expression on his face. Baekhyun calls this his Jed Bartlet impression; Junmyeon calls it "Aggressive Stance, Debate Variant, Version One." r/Politics calls it <em>Spread Eagle.</em> "I really think Zitao can do a lot for our campaign," Kris says. His voice slides into a cajoling whine. Baekhyun, resigned, mouths along with Kris: "He's young. He's passionate. He invigorates the base."</p>
  <p>"You're making this guy sound like the Second Coming," Baekhyun says, shaking his head, but he pulls out his Blackberry anyway, already arranging for flights into Washington state.</p>
  <p>"Nah," Kris grunts as he shoves Baekhyun's feet off the desk, "he's nothing like Obama."</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Horse Race (And Back In the Running)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In the Running](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/216346) by hyperlydian. 



> Originally posted [February 2013](http://loveismix.livejournal.com/5606.html), as part of the [loveismix](http://loveismix.livejournal.com/) challenge.

Of all the people on the Kris Wu 2016 campaign, Kris Wu himself is the latest riser. By the time his campaign manager Baekhyun hands him the shortlist of vice presidential nominee candidates, everyone from the strategists to the interns to the pet members of the press that Junmyeon keeps on their good side has analyzed it to death. Yixing Zhang, Governor of New Mexico, a staunch liberal-on-social-issues Democrat with perfect regional balance and a tendency for charming gaffes during interviews, is the top choice and, accordingly, listed first.

"But you kept Governor Huang," Kris says, glancing at the bottom of the page.

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. "If you only worked the superdelegates as hard as you're working us over Zitao being veep, we wouldn't be fighting Jepp Blackman over the nomination _in May_."

"You only hate Zitao for the pot thing," Kris points out.

"I wasn't even going to bring up the pot thing," Baekhyun sniffs.

Baekhyun's copy ranks the candidates with emoticons, and the one next to Zitao's name is a glowering face smoking a joint. Kris adds a puff of smoke to one side before handing back the paper. "For your information, after the pot thing was implemented, they saved about $10 million in law enforcement costs—"

"When you're president, you'll have to stop calling it 'the pot thing,'" Baekhyun muses, kicking his heels onto Kris' desk. "It's Washington Initiative 502. Or 'marijuana reform.'"

"Baekhyun." Kris leans forward, both palms down on his desk, an earnest expression on his face. Baekhyun calls this his Jed Bartlet impression; Junmyeon calls it "Aggressive Stance, Debate Variant, Version One." r/Politics calls it _Spread Eagle._ "I really think Zitao can do a lot for our campaign," Kris says. His voice slides into a cajoling whine. Baekhyun, resigned, mouths along with Kris: "He's young. He's passionate. He invigorates the base."

"You're making this guy sound like the Second Coming," Baekhyun says, shaking his head, but he pulls out his Blackberry anyway, already arranging for flights into Washington state.

"Nah," Kris grunts as he shoves Baekhyun's feet off the desk, "he's nothing like Obama."

 

 

 

The meeting, of course, goes terribly.

"You have some nerve," are the first words out of Zitao's mouth, delivered at near shouting volume as his secretary tries in vain to hide Kris and Baekhyun behind a potted plant. Zitao glares at both Moonkyu and the plant, and Kris swears they both wither a little. "What part of 'no way in hell' do you not understand?"

Zitao is taller than Kris remembers. He is also wearing nicer clothes, and his pants, which used to be skin-tight, are tastefully tailored. But when Kris tries to hand Zitao his card, he notices that the inside of Zitao's collar is lined with leopard print. Some things, he thinks with a smile, never change.

"Maybe we should try this again some other time," Kris says, redirecting the card and his smile at Moonkyu. "At the governor's convenience, of course."

"Great," Zitao scoffs. "Let's plan for another ten years of zero communication and then I'll muscle my way to _your_ door and leave a pile of steaming political horseshit for _you_ to step in."

"Excuse me?" Baekhyun says coldly.

Zitao's shoes are well-shined and as sharp as the glare he levels at Kris. They're easy to compare, because just as Kris catches sight of the latter, he looks down at the former. He keeps his eyes trained there as Zitao says, "You knew this would be a waste of your time." Zitao pauses, drags the silence out long enough that Kris is forced to look up. "Too bad you didn't have the courtesy to inform your staff ahead of time," he finishes with a sneer.

"Have a nice day," Moonkyu whispers, before Zitao not-quite slams the door in both their faces.

 

 

 

The nice thing about being one of two presidential front-runners is that Kris has a 50-50 chance of charming the ticketing staff into bumping their return flights a full 48 hours. Baekhyun waits until they're both settled at the gate before he brings up Zitao.

"So," Baekhyun begins, mock-casual, "you didn't say you and Governor Huang had history."

"We don't," Kris says, a little too quickly.

"Uh-huh." Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. "And Glenn Beck wasn't being racist when he pulled out a fortune cookie to predict the North Carolina primaries. He just really likes Chinese takeout."

"At least it wasn't a 'Confucius say' joke," murmurs Kris.

Baekhyun sighs. "You are a moron and God help America when you become president," he says. "Don't bother firing me—I'm quitting."

Kris hired Baekhyun back in 2014, when this campaign was just a whisper of a rumor in Markos Moulitasas' column in The Hill. In the two years since, Baekhyun has threatened to quit at least once a month. Now, Kris knows Baekhyun better than the exceptions to the FEC limitations on campaign contributions. He knows that Baekhyun isn't quitting. He knows that after years of practice, Baekhyun no longer sees individuals, but networks, one long line of relationships that stretches back to infancy. In a few minutes, Baekhyun will reach for his Blackberry and dial a number. Then, Baekhyun is going to tell him, like all lifelong politics junkies do when faced with a problem, "All right, let's talk to his people."

 

 

 

Zitao's people turns out to be a baby-faced twenty-something in a baseball tee and a snapback hiding his ice-cream-pink hair. His business card bears his name, Sehun Oh, and the bright blue logo of SKDKnickerbocker.

"I did a little work for Zitao back in 2012, when he was running for governor," Sehun says with a shrug. "We were classmates at Stanford."

"Zitao is like fifteen years older than you," Kris says dubiously.

"I'm older than I look," Sehun laughs. But, like a switch flipped, he suddenly becomes serious, mouth pinched in a judgmental line, eyes heavy-lidded. It adds five years to his face, and if Kris covered up everything above the forehead and below the chin, he can almost picture Sehun in his lineage: Dunn, Carville, or maybe Stephanopoulus in the war room, still waiting for his first big political responsibility to chew him up. "I looked up your voting record when Baekhyun called me," Sehun says. "And I'm going to be blunt, because that's what I get paid for on any other day: You and Zitao would not be good together."

Baekhyun opens his mouth. Before he can say _I told you so_ , Kris cuts in. "How come?"

"You know what Zitao is like, yeah?"

Kris shrugs, spreading his hands out on the table like a dealer laying down a deck. "Only his record. Clerking for the 8th Circuit, county councilman, state attorney general, now governor."

"I meant his views," Sehun presses. "His platforms. What he actually cares about. You know why former governor Gregoire wanted him as AG, right?"

Kris sneaks a look at Baekhyun, who is slowly shoving the end of his tie into his mouth, as he always does when he's out of his depth. Kris stammers, "I'm afraid I'm not really familiar—"

"No, you're right, state politics probably isn't your strong point," Sehun says, waving his hand. "And anyway, it was four years ago." For a long while, though, he examines Kris searchingly, face impassive, his tongue poking out from between his lips. Eventually, as if settling down to an unwelcome chore, he puts his elbows down on the table, fingers steepled, and asks, "Mr. Wu, what's your stance on gay rights?"

 

 

 

When you run for president of the United States, your preparations start from birth: native-born, over the age of thirty-five, residency for at least fourteen years. It helps if you're taller than average, photogenic, and white. Thirteen presidents have attended Ivy League schools. And money, of course; the last presidential election hit the $2 billion milestone, with no signs of stopping this round for Kris and his SuperPAC, A Higher America.

But most of all, you need a clean record.

Kris has wanted to run for president since he was sixteen. That was 1992, Clinton was losing badly in the primaries, and Kris remembers watching him fight tooth and nail in New Hampshire and thinking, _I could do that, I could be him, I could be_ better. That's how Kris Wu 2016 really began. His high school friends listed his nickname in the yearbook as "The Next Comeback Kid." In college he ran for student government, organized Young Democrats networking events, dominated Model United Nations conferences. He block-walked and fundraised and campaigned for Clinton's re-election, and it was real to him. He believed It Was Time to Change America. He believed in Putting People First. He believed in Bill Clinton.

But in 1998, in slow and punishing degrees, Bill Clinton failed him.

 _Presidents are humans too_ , his mother told him, stroking his hair as they watched the impeachment hearings together. _I hope when you're in the White House, you'll remember that._ She meant to be comforting, Kris knew, but instead it scared him. Clinton had been human. America wanted perfect. Nothing less.

American politics doesn't create perfect, but in 2002, Yunho Jung, representing New York's 1st Congressional, was as close to perfect as a thirty-year-old House rep could be. He was two-term, already on the Budget Committee, an eventual shoo-in for Ways and Means. He worked well with Republicans and kept peace among the junior reps. Cautious on the war, strong on the environment, a friend of the NAACP, and a stalwart defender of the middle class, the worst his Republican opponents could throw at him was that he was "rank-and-file." His friends called him "everyone's populist uncle." People Magazine called him Washington, D.C.'s most eligible bachelor.

In 2002, Kris Wu graduated from Yale Law, and Yunho Jung was running for re-election. Kris, who spent a year between college and law school doing community organization in Ann Arbor, was taken on as an assistant outreach coordinator. Yunho was kind, gracious, exactly the person he claimed to be. Kris was sure Yunho was going to win this election, and every election after that, and fantasized about giving up his dreams of the presidency to work in Yunho's cabinet.

But a month before the election, the New York Post ran pictures of someone who appeared to be Yunho sitting in a restaurant with an unidentified man, with the headline, "Only 'YU-NHO' their relationship." ABC dug up a name and details: Jaejoong Kim, a singer-songwriter Yunho met in college. Newsweek found a waiter who swore they ate there every week, alone together. The Drudge Report claimed that the pictures showed the two men holding hands. The Daily Howler jokingly zoomed the picture down to pixels and wrote, "Either we need new glasses, or everyone else needs a new hobby."

Almost overnight, Yunho's reputation turned against him. He'd been popular with women voters for being vehement about rape issues—and single. Now the press described him as "identifying strongly with females" and "avoided relationships with women." His public record—against DOMA, against DADT, a helping hand in the Permanent Partners Immigration Act—"was a glaring neon sign," sniffed Fox News. Yunho disappeared for a week while his press secretary Changmin discovered inventive ways of saying "No comment." Kris was discreetly tasked with asking Yunho for a list of possible girlfriend candidates. Yunho hung up on that call, and every subsequent call Kris made after that.

Eventually, Kris quit the campaign. Before he left, he waited hours in front of Yunho's door, trying to work up the courage to knock. But his question could never have a satisfactory answer, Kris realized. The truth wasn't important. And so Kris left.

In the end, Yunho Jung lost by a spread of over 40%.

Kris learned a lot from Yunho, but the most important thing was, _leave no record_. This is the thirteenth year of Kris' political career. Despite that, the Huffington Post writes, _As far as we can tell, Wu doesn't know gay rights exists as an issue._ GovTrack can't put their finger on him. The Human Rights Campaign lists him as N/A. He'd approved of the Supreme Court 2013 decision in the DOMA cases, sure, but he also told CNN in an interview, "I would never snub traditional family values." The Advocate hates him. Out Magazine struck him at the last minute from the "Out 100."

On the other hand, Sehun reminds Kris, there's Zitao Huang.

"He spent almost all his time as attorney general campaigning for same-sex marriage," he says. "It's really important to him. No governor is this strong on LGBT issues."

Kris closes his eyes, and nods.

 

 

 

Jepp Blackman finally telephones after the West Virginia primaries to concede. In celebration, Junmyeon buys cake for everyone at headquarters. He video-chats Kris and Baekhyun, off fundraising in Oregon, so they can watch him eat a fondant figurine of Kris. In the background, Jongdae, their creative team manager, holds up another figurine, already beheaded.

"I asked them for a wedding cake," Junmyeon admits. "I wasn't sure who to put as Kris' spouse, so I told them just to make two Krises." Baekhyun almost asphyxiates laughing.

"Seriously though," Baekhyun says later. He taps his blazer pocket, where his tattered copy of the vice presidential hopefuls rests. Kris pointedly looks out the window. "You can't ignore this forever," Baekhyun grumbles.

"I'm not," Kris assures him, as the roar of their Portland grassroots rally drowns them out.

In the end, Zitao comes to them, as the plus-one of a donor attending their last fundraising event in the state. "I didn't come here for _you_ ," he snaps when Kris finds him at the open bar, sipping ginger ale with a scowl. "Governor Zhou and I have a friendly working relationship, that's all."

"I'm glad you came," Kris says, awkwardly trying to appear casual as he leans against the minibar. The contraption shudders under his weight, and he gets a dirty look from the server.

"Don't you have donors to meet?" Zitao asks acidly.

"Everyone here already donated by buying a ticket. They just came for the photo op," Kris says. Zitao snorts into his cup. "Zitao, why don't you want to be my running mate?"

"Politics like this is just a sham. It's not about providing people with the freedom of choice or democracy. It's just about money." He narrows his eyes at Kris. "I'm not interested in that."

"It's either my money or Priorities USA and the Republican Party," Kris reminds him.

"As far as I'm concerned, there's no difference," Zitao retorts.

Kris sighs, frustrated, and reaches for another drink. Baekhyun passes by, chatting animatedly on his Blackberry, and raises an eyebrow when he sees them together. Kris shakes his head, and Baekhyun makes a complicated series of gestures that Kris interprets as _chicken choking heart talk stupid what OK?_ He thinks it might mean Baekhyun wants him to apologize.

"I'm sorry," Kris says.

"For what?" Zitao asks, too quickly, voice cracking.

"For the scene we made last time. For—for not asking first. But," Kris hastens, "I really do believe in this. Not just the money. Not just me. I think we could make a difference if we did this, together. Because I still do care."

Kris had remembered Zitao's eyes as deep, the kind to inspire trite phrases like "you could drown in them." Maybe fourteen years ago that was true, but as Zitao looks at him now, his hair falling across his forehead, Kris sees only his own reflection. "Care about what?" Zitao demands. "Getting to sit in the Oval Office? The power? Because I honestly cannot think of one thing I care about that I really, truly believe you give a shit about."

"Zitao, please don't be like this, please don't be—"

"What, difficult?" Zitao puts his empty glass down on a passing tray, all controlled anger. "I got to where I am now by being a pain in the asses of everyone who was wrong. I don't care what anyone says, I'm not going to stop now just because you think it's a problem. Go control everyone else with your money and your charm and your stupid false promises. Just leave me alone and let me do the job the American people actually _need_."

He turns to go, but at the last minute, one of Kris' photographers rounds the corner. "Governor Huang, if you don't mind," she calls out with an oblivious smile.

"We don't—" Kris tries, but Zitao draws him into a handshake.

"Photo op, right?" Zitao turns up the corner of his mouth sarcastically. "Didn't you say that's what everyone comes for?"

"Kris, don't frown," the photographer butts in.

"Zitao's hands are cold," Kris jokes.

The flash goes off in Kris' face, blinding him momentarily, so he doesn't see Zitao's expression when he whispers, "I'm not the one who's cold." He can tell that Zitao's fingers are shaking, though, and he doesn't know if he should grip more tightly, or let go.

Eventually he swallows and, mouth dry, mutters, "I don't know what you mean."

" _That_ ," Zitao says, ripping his hand away in disgust, "is exactly what I mean."

 

 

 

"The problem," Chanyeol Park tells them, pacing back and forth in the conference room, "is that you're not married."

Baekhyun guffaws. "Shitty advice like this is why you lost so spectacularly to Nate Silver in 2012."

"It was only $2,000," Chanyeol sniffs.

"At $20 per electoral vote."

Kris claps his hands to get their attention. "Not to be narcissistic, but can we get back to me?"

Chanyeol points to the PowerPoint slide behind him, with a demographics bar chart in blue and red. He clicks for the next slide, comparing presidents, married and unmarried. "Buchanan? That's it?" Kris asks, dismayed.

"Your chart is misleading," Junmyeon huffs. "Plenty of political powerhouses aren't married these days. Cuomo—"

"Is boning Sandra Lee," Baekhyun dismisses.

"Yeah, veto," Kris says, burying his face in his hands.

"The plain fact is that unmarried men your age aren't relatable to voters," Chanyeol insists. "I'm not saying go marry the first Food Network star you meet, but you're already struggling in the south. The last thing you want is a running mate who's single, way left, and geographically undesirable."

"Baekhyun," Kris mutters, "did you pay Chanyeol to say this?"

"Technically your campaign budget is paying Chanyeol to say this," Baekhyun says with a cheeky smile.

"Look, I'm no politician," Chanyeol continues. "I'm just a poll analyst. But I know numbers, and the numbers are telling me that Yixing Zhang is the better running mate. You don't have a stronghold in the southwest, he's got the policy issues like immigration, and _he's married with a kid_."

Kris pushes his chair back and marches to the front of the room. With his back to the screen, the projector shines a map of the electoral votes onto his face. His left eye is blocking a blue state, his right eye red. It's symbolic, he thinks. He could make a joke about bipartisanship, but instead he clears his throat, puts both hands on the table, and leans in. "Fuck the numbers," he says, voice low. "If I'm going to run, I don't want to compromise for votes. I like Yixing a lot. I want the best for his political career, and I'd take him as a cabinet member any day. But Zitao's the best candidate we have. He's different, but he's the kind of different we need."

"Great," Baekhyun says, "but Governor Huang has refused to talk to our campaign since May and I'm pretty sure it's because he hates you."

"I don't care if he hates me!" Kris explodes. "This isn't about me! This isn't about him!" He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Isn't that the point of democracy, bringing people together, reaching across that divide, and ignoring personal differences? Are we trying to win a popularity contest or are we trying to lead a country?"

In the silence that follows, the neglected projector whines, whirls to a stop, and flips off. Kris sees the faces of his staff as flashes of afterglow, uniform blobs of alien green. Finally, Chanyeol coughs, breaking the tension. "Good speech," he says sarcastically. "But next time, can you guys not invite me to your Gore-Clinton circa 2000 reenactments?"

"Would that make Jongin Lewinsky?" asks Baekhyun.

"You could at least have picked one of our female interns for that joke," Kris grumbles, as Junmyeon laughs.

"Give me points for accuracy. None of them are your type."

"Because they're interns?"

"No," Baekhyun tells him breezily, "because they're _women._ "

Kris halts, stunned. Up ahead, Jongin scurries quickly to get out of the conference room, throwing furtive, frightened glances at Kris. Any other day, Kris would laugh. Today, he puts a hand on Baekhyun's arm and draws him gently back into the conference room. Chanyeol gestures wildly through the glass partition, like a dog intent on its owner heeling. Both Kris and Baekhyun ignore him.

"Kris," Baekhyun says, "I know you better than your mother does. I know which side of a hotel bed you sleep on and I know every password you've used for your iPhone lockscreen in the last two years. I know you're emotionally stunted and casual sex gives you panic attacks—"

" _Okay_ ," Kris hisses. "You've made your point."

"— _and more importantly_ ," Baekhyun continues, "I know why. You're not the only person who worked for Yunho Jung. Before I took this job, Lu Han called me up and told me a lot of things in confidence." Before Kris can protest, Baekhyun prods him on the chest for emphasis. "But Kris Wu, read my lips. I. Don't. Care. Who you did or didn't do more than a decade ago doesn't matter to me. What matters is right now. You are winning. You are going to be president of the United States, or at least the Democratic presidential nominee. There's no time to wait until you step into office to start acting like one. You have to start now. And you know what being president means?"

"Leading the country," Kris snaps.

" _No_. It means that sometimes you have to make the hard choices that no one, not even you, wants to make."

Baekhyun is several inches shorter than Kris, but with his arms crossed and his face clouded with several years of being jaded, exhausted, and let down, he is a force Kris doesn't want to fight. This was the expression Baekhyun made when they lost Florida, when the Blackman campaign claimed they were buying votes in Illinois, when the birthers started in on Kris' mother's citizenship. It's the face, Kris knows, of a man who is always fighting someone else's battle, of a man who got really drunk in Atlanta and admitted to Junmyeon in a moment of personal weakness that he actually believes in Kris.

"No one except me thinks this is a hard choice," Kris murmurs.

Baekhyun sighs, dropping his arms. "Maybe that's a sign that your hard choice is everyone else's right choice."

 

 

 

In 2002, Kris graduated from Yale, Yunho Jung was running for re-election, and Zitao Huang had just deferred his acceptance to SLS. Zitao wasn't political, but he had a friend of a friend named Lu Han who heard he was between places, and asked if he wanted to work for the campaign. Zitao, who had nothing else on his plate, said yes. He would be a volunteer coordinator, working directly under outreach.

Thus, in 2002, he met Kris Wu.

Zitao burst into tears because he lost his promotional materials, was how Kris told the story later. He was just going into the office for a check-in and found Kris drooling on the phone as he napped, was how Zitao told it afterwards. They were well-matched—a law school graduate and a future student, a passionate moderate and a burgeoning radical, one naturally inclined to lead by the hand, and the other the kind who wanted, but was too embarrassed to ask, to be spoiled. Kris taught Zitao one-on-one basketball, and Zitao instilled in Kris a lifelong routine of morning yoga. Kris told Zitao his presidential dreams, and Zitao warmed up to his own political ambitions. They frequently drank together after work, and once Kris asked Zitao, _what if you were my VP?_ Zitao had laughed, hiccupped, and told him, _you can be such a queen sometimes._ They started sleeping together after that. Work meant they were always together anyway. No one was suspicious. Kris never said he'd admit to the relationship if asked, but then again, no one ever asked. Zitao didn't think it was important.

Then, a month before the elections, Yunho Jung was caught eating at a restaurant with a college friend. Under the table, they might have been holding hands.

It was hard to be naive about gay rights in 2002. Republicans held the Senate, George W. Bush was in the White House, and the Democrats had been quiet about DOMA and DADT for years. Zitao suffered no delusions, but at the same time, Kris had years before he'd be ready to run. Maybe by then, no one would blink twice at a gay president. Zitao stood outside Kris' apartment for hours, preparing a little speech about how the best would win out. Yunho would survive this, and they would both be stronger for having survived it with him. Patience and victory to those who wait.

In the end, Kris never came home.

Instead, a week later, Kris quit the campaign and moved back to Michigan. Zitao called him repeatedly, with no answer. Kris' campaign email had been deactivated. Zitao thought about letters, but realized he'd have to ask Lu Han for an address. After Yunho lost, Zitao sent a text just to ask if Kris was okay. Kris texted back, _whose number is this?_ and Zitao, too, deleted Kris from his address book.

"Ten years of zero communication" was rounding down. Zitao graduated at the top of his class in Stanford, leaving him no time to read the news. Even if he did, he still might not have known that in 2006, Kris Wu finally made it to the House of Representatives. Zitao lost interest in national politics, moved back to Washington, and started his career. In 2012 he declined an invitation to the DNC. Chris Gregoire came back with an extra pamphlet, signed by Obama, for Zitao. He never flipped it open, and thus never saw Kris' name listed as one of the speakers, right before Clinton. It's 2015 before Zitao hears through the grapevine that Kris is running.

It's 2016 before Kris finally calls him back.

 

 

 

At the end of July, Kris sits down in front of a computer, trying to compose an email. In his inbox is a note of encouragement from Obama. _Whatever difficult choices lie ahead, I trust you'll make the right decision_ , he'd written. The postscript reminds Kris that Biden wasn't selected until a week before the 2008 DNC. _There is still time._

The only contact information Kris has for Zitao is the feedback form on the Office of the Washington Governor's website. He could ask Baekhyun, of course, but if he did, Baekhyun would chew him out for an hour. _We have better things to do_ , Baekhyun might say, _than chasing down ex-boyfriends._

Speeches, written or typed, are not Kris' strong point. He doesn't know how to explain to Baekhyun that he isn't trying to get Zitao back. Two gay men on the same ticket doesn't fly any better now than it did in 2002. It isn't romance he wants anymore. He just wants to show Zitao— _something_. That he's still the man he was when he believed in Clinton and Jung and America. That there's something left of the man who asked Zitao back in 2002 to be his running mate.

He imagines himself painstakingly typing out, _You are everything still good about me, as a man or a politician._ He thinks about admitting, _I still believe in what we can do together._ He considers asking Zitao, _who else but you can make me worthy of being president?_

But he knows how the words would travel, from Kris' computer, through the Internet, to the desk of some lowly summer intern and then around the entirety of Zitao's office, before it finally lands on Zitao's desk. He thinks about the grainy photos of Yunho and Jaejoong in the Post. He thinks about Monica Lewinsky's stained blue dress. He thinks about his clean record and hard choices, and, eventually, he turns off his computer.

 

 

 

In August, a screaming crowd of eighty thousand in the Baltimore Convention Center witnesses the DNC officially nominating Senator Kris Wu for their presidential candidate. No one is surprised, except for Jongin, who has a minor apoplectic fit when glitter tape starts raining from the ceiling. The house band plays a cover of "Like a G6" as the crowd chants _we are one._ Yixing, an arm around Kris' waist as they wave to the crowd, draws Kris closer and mutters, "You have to stop Jongdae before he gets out of hand."

"What do you mean?"

Under the pretext of picking out a toddler sitting on her father's shoulder, Yixing points to a young bespectacled man in the crowd waving a sign: _Wu-Zhang Clan 2016_.

Kris laughs and goes to the edge of the stage, beckoning for Jongdae to pass the sign up. "We'll hold it," he shouts, but Jongdae shakes his head, throwing the sign high into the air. It lands in the hands of another man, who examines it curiously, head bent. All Kris can see of his features is a sharp nose, a well-defined jaw, and the line of his upper body: strong arms, a lean torso. For a moment, it is 2002, and Kris sees both himself and Zitao overlaid: young, eager, joyous.

The minute passes. The stranger, as if noticing Kris' attention, lifts his head, and the illusion dissolves. Something inside Kris' chest relaxes, escapes as an exhalation. He doesn't know if it's relief or disappointment.

**Author's Note:**

> The only thing worth liking about this fic is the last joke about the Wu-Zhang clan. and the fact that I sort of ship Rasmussen!Chanyeol and Nate Silver. Also, remember when I weirdly thought the 2016 DNC would be in Maryland? What was up with that, huh?


End file.
